


Stay

by there_must_be_a_lock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: “Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, and the words come so close to cracking, but she manages not to break.“Dean called,” Sam says quietly.She nods at the floor. “You gotta go.”





	Stay

She tries to be quiet, tiptoeing around the dark kitchen. The apartment is tiny and Sam’s asleep on the futon, and fuck knows he needs the rest before he leaves again. The fridge is mostly empty; gotta fix that, fuck, so it’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, eaten in big unladylike bites, standing by the counter and trying not to think about it. “It” being Sam, Sam leaving, the fucking hole in her chest. 

“Hey,” comes Sam’s voice, and she startles. Fucking hunters. Should’ve known he’d be awake. 

His hair is all over the place. He’s wearing a thin, worn t-shirt, and she can see the edge of a bruise peeking out from under the sleeve, and he looks fucking exhausted, and it’s all too much. He’s too fucking beautiful. He’s beautiful, and he’s not hers, not the way she wants him to be. He’s leaving. She looks down at the floor, avoiding eye contact, and fights back the lump in her throat. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, and the words come so close to cracking, but she manages not to break. 

“Dean called,” Sam says quietly. 

She nods at the floor. “You gotta go.”

“I don’t… I should…” Sam takes a jerky step forward, then turns away, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He takes a deep, heaving breath. “Fuck, I can’t do this.” 

“Everything okay?” she asks. He looks scared. She doesn’t see it often, and it’s terrifying.

“I don’t know,” Sam mutters. A muscle in his jaw is working, clenching and unclenching. “I don’t know, I just- it could never work, and I’m so fucking - but I can’t.” 

“Can’t what?” she asks, and steps closer, trying to read his fierce, wild expression. “Sam, you’re freaking me out.” 

“Can’t go another day without…” Sam stops, lets the words hang in the air. His eyes are wide and blazing. 

“Without what?” Her heart is pounding. 

Sam steps forward. He’s close, too close and leaning in closer, and she has a split-second to think  _ this isn’t really happening,  _ and then he’s kissing her. He’s kissing her hard and desperate and his hands are shaking when they grab her shoulders, and it’s fucking happening, and everything falls away except him and his hands and his mouth and the dizzying realization that this is even better than she’d ever imagined. 

Sam pulls away, just an inch, to take a deep shuddery breath. “You taste like peanut butter,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Sandwich,” she mumbles, between quick kisses, and then she’s laughing and pushing closer. His mouth is hot and sweet and perfect, and he’s crushing her against his chest, dwarfing her, hands clutching convulsively at the back of her shirt, and with the tiny part of her brain that is still capable of coherent thought, she wonders how she survived for so many years without knowing what this feels like. 

And maybe Sam feels the same way, because he’s making the most beautiful, broken, amazed noise against her lips, holding her tight like he never wants to let go. 

She’s trembling, when she pulls away. She buries her face in his neck, trying to breathe him in, trying to memorize the way it feels to be pressed against his chest with his arms strong and sure around her and his fingers in her hair. She can’t get close enough. 

“Ask me to stay,” Sam whispers. 

She looks up at him, amazed, and he looks just as overwhelmed as she feels. He kisses her before she can answer, all teeth and tongue now, biting her lips and stealing her breath. She’s half-laughing, half-sobbing, so full her chest might burst. 

“Don’t go,” she manages, finally, between kisses, and now that the words are out she wishes she’d said them years ago. 

He pulls back, cups a hand around her cheek. He’s smiling, the wide real dimpled smile that makes her heart thud painfully against her ribs, and his eyes are sparkling, and it’s Sam, and this is happening. 

“Don’t go,” she says again. Her throat is so tight she can barely get the words out. 

“Okay,” he whispers, and when he kisses her again it’s soft, gentle, a promise. “I’ll stay.” 

 


End file.
